


Playing with Fire

by marvelsmymuse



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Deadpoolweekly fire prompt, First work - Freeform, Hell I don't ship this, I suck at tagging, M/M, Original title I know, no one ships this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelsmymuse/pseuds/marvelsmymuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny's been extremely restless and goes to Peter's apartment for help.  Instead, he finds Deadpool, who helps in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing with Fire

**Author's Note:**

> My first posted work. Figures it would be Deadpool.

Johnny knew heat. He knew the cozy warmth of hot chocolate on a winter day. He knew the raging inferno of wrath when someone he cared about was hurt. And he knew the localized heat that meant he was interested in someone. But he sure as hell didn’t know what this heat was. He was restless. Everything was getting under his skin. Ben liked to say he was in heat, which riled him up more than ever. Reed had spouted off a bunch of science crap. Something about his atoms being in an excited state that followed its own rhythms and cycles. He didn’t understand when Reed went full on nerd, and so he didn’t pay attention. He just knew that every so often, he grew agitated and nothing could help him settle down.

Sue was concerned, as she should be. He wanted to find something to help. Sex didn’t help. Cold showers didn’t help (it wasn’t a temperature heat after all, but it was worth a shot). Riding his motorcycle didn’t help. Flying didn’t help. Working out until his legs were Jell-O didn’t help. So then had come the reckless behaviors. Sky diving, base jumping, waiting longer and longer to catch himself. Sue was having heart attacks when she found out. She had begged and pleaded for him to find an outlet, a safe outlet, for his jittery spells. And he was trying. Failing, but trying.

His skin was currently attempting to crawl off in effort to get away from his jangling nerves. “Peter,” he murmured. That legendary Parker trait of helping those in need. May and Ben taking in their nephew after tragedy. Peter compiling selflessness with guilt until he strung himself so thin between work and classes and patrolling that Johnny had to strong arm him into taking time for himself. There was an edge of his own guilt that he was going to impose himself on Peter, but he needed him. 

His thumb stroked the edge of his car keys. No, driving would take too long, and it was impossible to find parking in Peter’s crappy neighborhood. Flying it was. He was out the window in seconds, across Manhattan in minutes. He could hear people calling his name, but they were just driving the edge of tension through him. He was stumbling through Pete’s bedroom window, shoe catching on the laundry strewn on the floor. 

“Damn it, Pete,” he groaned. “Would it kill you to buy a damn laundry basket?” He followed the sounds of game music to the living room, looking for his friend. He found someone, but definitely not an arachnid themed boy scout. In fact, he was pretty sure he found the opposite.

“Deadpool? What are you doing here?” he sputtered.

“Playing Portal, my system’s on the fritz.”

“So you break in to use Pete’s?”

“Whereas you knocked politely at the door and waited for permission to gain entrance?”

“Touché.” He flopped on the other end of the couch, propping his feet on the scarred coffee table. He crossed and re-crossed his legs, but resigned himself to the fact that he just wasn’t going to get comfortable. “Is there any reason to hope you might know where Peter is, or when he’ll be back?”

“Always reason to hope, but not a clue.”

“Damn it.”

“You’re welcome to kill time here. Maybe he just went to get groceries.” Deadpool tossed a controller in Johnny’s lap. “Come on, we can play Mario Kart, and I’ll kick your ass.”

Johnny tossed the controller aside, ignoring the general unease that came from being within striking distance of a rather unstable individual. “Not feeling games right now.”

“Movie? Pete keeps his Netflix account logged in.”

“Maybe.”

He saved his game and queued up an action movie. Johnny slumped further down on the couch. He wasn’t feeling action films. But then again, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. So he watched the stunts and the gun battles, listened to Wade’s incessant diatribe about the practicality of this choice or that angle, or how they magically never ran out of bullets.

“Never seen you run out of ammo,” Johnny pointed out.

“Only do if it adds to the story.”

“I’m sure that makes sense to you. I’m gonna make some popcorn.”

He heaved himself off the couch and into the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards. The contents of one surprised him.

“Why does Peter have a cupboard full of maple syrup?”

Deadpool chuckled. “He was going on and on about his plans for last Independence Day, and it didn’t involve watching the movie. So I filled his apartment with 100% pure, sweet, sticky, Canadian goodness.”

Johnny waited a beat. “Please tell me you’re still talking about syrup.”

The deep rolling laughter was a surprise. Johnny grabbed a bag of popcorn, heating it as he walked back to the living room. 

“Now that’s a useful trick,” Deadpool noted as kernels popped. 

“Thanks.” He glanced over as the merc slid his mask up to his nose. 

“Come on, friends share,” he said, wiggling a gloved hand. 

“We’re not friends,” Johnny said instinctively.

“Words hurt ya know,” Deadpool pouted. 

He sighed and passed the bag over. He was curious about the showing skin. He had never really seen Deadpool without his mask, and fascination was pushing out his restlessness. He had a strong jawline, square and masculine. The unease started ebbing out of him as he adjusted to “Wade” and not Deadpool.

“Dude, impolite to stare,” Deadpool said, shifting uncomfortably. He handed back the bag.

“Sorry. Just haven’t seen you with your mask up before.”

“Haven’t mastered eating through osmosis yet.”

Johnny chuckled and took a handful of kernels. He chewed thoughtfully, watched the movie, randomly passing the bag over. Wade started up his commentary again, and Johnny found himself listening. When the movie ended, Johnny was disappointed that Peter hadn’t returned. He sighed.

“What’s wrong, Hothead?” Deadpool asked. “Why you looking for Peter anyway?”

“Been restless. Sister’s on my case again. Thought maybe Pete’s big brain could help me brainstorm.”

“Except you’re not.” 

“Not what?”

“Restless. No motor mouth, no twitchy leg, no fidgets or tics. Dude, you’re fine.”

Johnny considered that. “You’re right. I’ve been fine since I got here. Maybe it’s you.”

Deadpool’s chuckle was nervous. “Yeah, right,” he snorted. “Like I’m a calming influence.”

“I think you are. Whatever tension I normally feel around you is cancelling out my cellular excitation!”

“Your what now?”

“Wade, you’re a damn lifesaver!”

He leaned over and planted a kiss on the exposed cheek. The mercenary went absolutely still. Tension started ratcheting up between them. Johnny had developed fast reflexes and good instincts. He knew this tension was going to spill over, but at least he could control how. 

Wade’s cheek was rough, but dry and warm under his hand. Long fingers stroked over the line of his jaw, thumb tracing along some of the scars there. His hand slipped under the soft spandex, but he didn’t tug. He shifted over to sit on Wade’s lap. Muscular thighs were taut underneath him, and Johnny had to wonder how he stayed so in shape with a diet of fast food and beer. Broad hands settled on his hips, keeping him steady. He had been with men before, but not one that made him feel so delicate.

“What are you doing, Johnny?” Wade’s voice was rougher than normal, and it was doing miraculous things to Johnny’s hormones.

“Celebrating. Thanking you. Do you want me to stop?”

“Definitely no.”

Johnny was smiling as he leaned in to kiss him. He was used to people kissing him hungrily, all playful bites and dueling tongues. But Wade was responding as though Johnny were terribly breakable and precious. His chapped lips met Johnny’s softly, his hands slid up and down his sides, traversing his waist, over his hips, to the curve of his ass. Johnny’s own hands were cradling Wade’s head, thumbs smoothing over the sleek fabric. 

He moaned quietly when Wade’s tongue dipped against his lips. Wade’s hands dug into his hips when Johnny licked along his jaw, setting his teeth into his earlobe. Johnny was rewarded with a raspy moan that set fire to his nervous system. His hands slid to Wade’s broad shoulders, sliding down to his chest. He could feel the merc’s strong heartbeat thudding too fast against his ribs, and Johnny smiled against his neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above the neck of his suit.

“Johnny,” he managed. “I’m pretty sure you’re killing me right now.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, continuing with his kisses.

“It’s a good way to go,” Wade ground out, shifting uncomfortably under him. 

“Let’s make it worth it then,” Johnny whispered, setting his mouth against Wade’s. Whatever had been holding Wade back before had been abandoned. His hands pulled Johnny’s hips against his own, friction against his cock making him growl in need. His mouth was hot on his, tongue tracing along the edge of his teeth. Johnny had never been the sole focus of Deadpool’s attention, but in this context, it was immensely sexy. Johnny felt like the center of the universe while Wade learned about him. 

He learned that if he licked up Johnny’s neck, the younger man squirmed. Sucking on his neck below the curve of his jaw, had him panting. Rubbing his hipbones with his thumbs had him moaning. Johnny was feeling good, his heat comfortably square in a realm he was familiar with. Wade was incredible with his hands, and his mouth, and Johnny was happy to let someone else take control of an interlude. He had an idle thought that it must be terrifying to have Deadpool as an enemy, but then there was a mouth nipping at his collarbone, and thought was happily impossible. 

“Wade,” he murmured.

He felt the man shudder beneath him, and he smiled at the relentless assault it triggered on his mouth. 

“Wade,” he mumbled against chapped, rough lips. _Talented_ , chapped, rough lips, he amended.

The creak of a door was drowned out by a throaty moan from Johnny. Peter’s shout of “what in the hell,” did tamp down the passion of their interlude.

“On my couch even?” he wailed. “What are you two even doing here?”

“Making out?” Wade ventured.

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Wade, I’m used to you breaking into my place, but Johnny? You couldn’t have called?”

“Thought you’d be home,” Johnny shrugged.

“So you could make out with me on my couch?”

“I wouldn’t have been averse, but no, I actually wanted your help with something. But I worked it out myself.”

Wade rolled his hips.

“Wade helped,” he amended.

“I think my lips have second degree burns.”

Johnny turned back to look at his current companion with a cocky grin.

“That’s what happens when you play with fire.”


End file.
